Page 23 of My Mafia Queen

The distant roar of his car still echoes in the air when a sigh leaves my chest, and I look around the house.

To say I have mixed feelings about this place is an understatement.

Across the street, the windows are dark. I should go there and confront my neighbor, but what difference would it make?

A shit is a shit is a shit.

I have the salty taste of tears on my lips as I try to think of anything I’d like to take with me.

Most of Tina’s clothes are at my aunt’s place.

What I have left in my closet is not worth taking with me.

I’ve had little all my life, and nothing of that stuff matters in the end.

I like the clothes I wear in Las Vegas, but even they can’t change my outlook on life.

Trying not to think about it, I go upstairs with renewed hope and rummage through the contents of my drawers.

There’s nothing of value, only old socks, T-shirts, and things that honestly belong in the garbage, like sticky notes past their prime and pens and pencils that dried up and no longer work.

I look around the room. Taking in the narrow bed and faded comforter, I have a feeling no one will ever sleep in that bed again.

Downcast, I spin around and leave for good when the headlights of a car slide over the windows and the vehicle comes to a stop.

This is my luck.

Why can’t I spend five minutes in this house without someone stopping by?

Strangely, I’m not afraid.

Despite the fact that the baseball bat I have faithfully carried around with me is in the trunk of my car, the duffel bag I have no intention of being separated from since it has all my money in it is slung over my shoulder, and I’m quite vulnerable, I’m still not afraid.

The car engine turns silent before the car door opens, and a woman climbs out.

Stella?

She seems in no hurry as she takes her time to collect her purse, lock the car and head to the entrance.

Eventually, she flicks her gaze up and notices that the lights are on. I wave at her from the doorway, an expression of surprise sliding over her face.

“Carmina? What are you doing here?”

I give her a twisted smile.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

She swings her gaze to the street and then back to me as if waiting for someone else to show up.

“Your father is coming home,” she says. “He asked me to meet him here tonight. If he hadn’t stopped on the way, he should be here any moment now.”

A flicker of panic sweeps through me.

I move to the side and invite her in.

She walks past me.

“You should leave if you don’t want to run into him.”

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